


Reclamation

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he accepts Wolfram & Hart's offer, Angel has more than one reason for going to Sunnydale</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Angel stayed outside Connor's house long after the family had risen from the dinner table and retired to the living room to watch TV. He could hear occasional bursts of laughter drifting out of the house, a testament to his son's happiness and proof that he had indeed made the right decision. It was worth it, it would be worth whatever torments Wolfram & Hart had waiting for him to see Connor get the life he deserved. The one he should've had all along, where vampires and demons existed only on screens and in the stories children told each other in the dark.  
  
To keep his son safe and happy, Angel would have given up a lot more.  
  
Turning away, he started walking back to his car. As much as he would've liked to stay there all night, he still had one other thing to do before he could go back to LA and start moving into his new office. Cordelia would've loved that, the chance to decorate everything - he could almost hear her now, trying to decide which sword should go where, whether the samurai sword or the broadsword made a more 'executive' statement behind his desk. Because there was no doubt in his mind that he was hanging at least one of them there, if only because he wasn't about to spend his days at Wolfram & Hart without at least five weapons within very easy reach. But there would be time to worry about that later, after -  
  
He glanced at the folder that lay on the passenger seat, frowning briefly as he remembered what Lilah had said when she handed it to him:  _You only asked for one kid, but we thought we'd throw the other in as well. Sort of a two-for-one deal._  
  
He'd seen one child; now it was time to see another. He wanted to make sure that Spike hadn't fallen into Wolfram & Hart's clutches, for one thing, but there was more to it than that, and Angel was getting tired of pretending there wasn't. One hundred years was long enough to run from his feelings - it was time to face them and admit that he missed his boy and what they'd shared so long ago. And maybe it was time he admitted it to Spike, as well  
  
When he got to Sunnydale, he discovered that planning to talk to Spike was a lot easier than actually doing so. Finding him wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be, for one thing. Willie sent him to a crypt that clearly hadn't been lived in for some time, although he could detect faint traces of Spike's scent beneath the morass of chicken bones and discarded snack foods that littered the place. Apparently Spike hadn't seen fit to appraise Willie of his new address, wherever it was. Giles' apartment door was answered by a young woman who said she'd moved in last year, which meant there was only one other person who might have the answer he needed.  
  
But neither Buffy nor Dawn were home. Instead, Xander Harris opened the door, took one look at him and started to slam it shut. Angel's hand shot out to stop the door from closing in his face just in time. "What do you want?" the boy demanded.  
  
"I'm looking for Spike."  
  
"He isn't here," Xander shot back, scowling at him darkly. It was almost amusing, really, his small show of defiance, like watching a kitten try to stare down a Doberman. "So you can just go away."  
  
Angel pushed a little against the door - not too hard, but enough to let the boy know that he was staying outside by choice and not necessity. "I'll wait."  
  
Xander's eyes narrowed. "He'll probably be gone a long time," he warned.  
  
"That's okay."  
  
They glared at each other, prepared to continue their standoff indefinitely. And they might well have if they hadn't been interrupted. "Xander, who are you - Angel? What are you doing here?"  
  
Barely resisting the urge to smirk at the boy, Angel smiled at Willow. "I was looking for Spike, but Xander said he isn't here." He paused, then asked, "Do you know where he's living now?"  
  
She looked surprised. "I thought you knew - he's been here for months now." Something in his face must have given his shock and dismay away, because she hurried to add, "In the basement. That whole thing with him and Buffy - it's been over for a while."  
  
"Yeah, and if I had a say in it, he wouldn't even be there," Xander put in. "But Buffy's gotten all protective of him since he got back." He looked at Willow and added, "And they don't act over, Wills."   
  
Angel swallowed hard. Spike and Buffy were over? As in, they hadn't been at one time? He wondered how that had happened. Was he too late? Had he finally decided he wanted his boy only to find that Spike had given his heart to someone else? "Spike and... Buffy?"  
  
Willow nodded, regarding him with soft, sympathetic eyes. "It's kind of a long story," she told him. "If you want to wait for them to get back, I can fill you in."  
  
Them. So Spike was out with Buffy. Angel shook his head. "No, that's - that's okay. I, uh, I did need to give Buffy something as well, though. Do you know where they went?"  
  
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get anything out, Xander cut in with, "Buffy said something about checking the pyramid at Restfield for clues about the scythe."  
  
"Restfield," Angel repeated. "Okay, I'll catch up with her there."  
  
"Hey, you gonna take Deadboy Junior off of our hands?" The idea seemed to perk Xander up considerably, and not for the first time, Angel wished Spike had torn his throat out five years ago.  
  
He didn't bother giving them an answer, though, just turned around and walked back to his car. It was a five minute drive to Restfield, five of the longest minutes of his life, seeing as there was no familiar bleached blond anywhere in sight when he pulled up at the gate. Grabbing the folder with the necklace inside as an afterthought, Angel hurried into the pyramid to find Buffy fighting a priest, of all things. He decked the guy to give her a little time, then stood back and watched her work. She quipped and kicked, punched and spun, and he'd forgotten how good she was, really poetry in motion when she got going. As he might have expected, Buffy won the fight and turned to greet him with a smile.  
  
What he didn't expect was the kiss that she pulled him down into.


	2. Chapter 2

Deep in the shadows, Spike watched the Slayer kiss his sire. He heard the First whisper next to him, but didn't look at it, didn't take his eyes away from the two of them. They kissed deeply, sweet and loving and everything he'd never had from either one of them. He watched as long as he dared, but when they slowly drew apart and smiled at each other, he fled. Not that it really mattered - they were lost in each other, wouldn't have heard an elephant stampede down the center of the room, let alone his near-silent steps as he slipped out the same way he'd come. 

Looked like the Slayer didn't need him to watch her back, not when she had Angel there to watch her front. 

Once outside, he took a minute to fish a cigarette out of his pocket and light it while he thought about where to go next. The Slayer's house was out, seeing as how most of the little girls were either scared of him or still creeping downstairs to try to get a look at him in the altogether and he didn't exactly trust Xander not to make sure he 'accidentally' tripped and fell right on a stake. Unless the boy was in one of his 'let's be pals' moods, which meant Spike would spend the night listening to him crack bad jokes without even a pool table or wings to distract him. Seemed like as the apocalypse got closer, Harris' jokes got more frequent and even worse than usual. Boy might as well declare his motto to be 'any joke in a storm' or some other such lame pun. Willie's or The Bronze didn't offer anything close to a secure bolt hole, both of them deserted on their best nights and crawling with nasties on their worst. And his crypt wasn't even a possibility - even if Clem hadn't turned it into his own personal junk food haven, the memories were sure to drive him halfway around the bend again. Besides, if he felt like torturing himself like that, there were better places with even more bittersweet memories attached to them. 

Taking one last drag, Spike exhaled and dropped the cigarette, grinding it out on the sidewalk next to his sire's poncy car with his boot. That might not be a bad idea, after all. He wasn't likely to live to see tomorrow night, so why not spend his last night in the last place he'd been part of a family? A nice long walk down memory lane, helped out with a few of those bottles he knew Angelus had stashed away, might be just what the doctor ordered to get him in the proper frame of mind. He looked down at the cigarette butt, half-considered picking it up to avoid leaving any kind of a trail, then shrugged. Not like Angel would notice it when he came out, seeing as how he'd always treated Spike a lot like that butt, something to be discarded when he was done with him. His mind made up, Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the mansion. 

The door wasn't locked, so he let himself in and closed it carefully behind him. From the heavy smell of dust and mold, it was clear that Angel hadn't bothered to come here since he left, but for some reason, he'd left the electricity on, because when Spike walked into the living room and flicked the light switch, the twin lamps on either side of the large leather chair flared to life. "Always had to have his great big poofter chair," he muttered to himself. 

In a way, though, it was oddly comforting to see that some things didn't change. Even with the soul, his sire still retained his love of luxury as evidenced by the supple leather of an unmistakably custom-made chair. "Probably broods better in it," Spike told himself as he approached it with slow, careful steps. He froze at the sight of a mostly-full bottle on the table beside the chair, wondering if he'd just made a colossal mistake, but the dust was as thick on the glass as it was on the book beside it. Still, he kept a careful ear out as he inched closer. He'd learned long ago that getting caught in Angelus' chair resulted in pain. 

And yet somehow, he'd never managed to stay out of it. He told himself it was because it was the most comfortable chair in the house, because the room it was in usually offered more privacy than the rest of the house, because the light was better there, or because he wanted to piss Angelus off, but the truth was that it was his sire's. It smelled like him, the expensive tobacco and brandy he preferred mingling with the sandalwood soap and bay rum cologne he used, as well as something else that he'd never been able to identify, something he knew was simply 'sire'. Something that eased a little of the restlessness inside, the yearning that Spike had never dared put a name to for fear that it would be one he couldn't bear to live with. Or without. 

The chair creaked and groaned as he settled into it, sinking down gingerly at first, then slowly sitting back until at least he relaxed against the overstuffed leather with a sigh. And there it was, that scent that told him this really was his sire's chair. "Angelus," Spike sighed softly. He closed his eyes, telling himself it was just for a minute. He was going to die tomorrow, so what was a little indulgence tonight? 

"I should've known I'd find you here," a deep voice said. "You always did like my chair best."


	3. Chapter 3

Angel ended the kiss as soon as he could and hoped he wasn't about to have to have a very awkward conversation about why he'd come back to Sunnydale. Luckily, Buffy only spent about three seconds gazing at him with the old starry-eyed look before the conversation turned to business. He produced the amulet, fully expecting that he'd stay to see the fight through, but to his surprise, she turned him down. And she wasn't going to wear it herself, which meant that she intended to give it to Spike.   
  
He tried to ask her about it, about him, but she mistook his questions for jealous demands, and he couldn't say they weren't. But dammit, she was drenched in Spike's scent, only a few hours old at most, so how was he supposed to think straight when all he wanted to do was bury his nose in her hair and breathe it in? And then there was the amulet. His childe was going to be wearing an untested, unknown amulet into battle, an amulet that had come from Wolfram & Hart, who weren't exactly known for their philanthropy and good deeds. Angel was still trying to tamp down on his panic when he realized what that meant, what it had to mean: Spike had a soul.   
  
There were a million questions he wanted to ask, from how and when it began and what had led to it, but when he tried to find a place to start, Buffy accused him of being jealous. Hell, yes, he was jealous! She had Spike, and if he was 'in her heart', then it was a pretty sure bet that he felt the same way about her. So once again, Angel had to live with knowing that Spike was in love with a woman that had once shared his bed instead of him.   
  
Of course, he reminded himself, he had only himself to blame. He'd been the one to shove William out of his bed in the first place, the one who rubbed his face in the way he'd replaced him with Drusilla. And later, when he might have had a chance to right some of those wrongs, he'd been too consumed with Buffy to see how his childe needed him. He'd left him in that chair, abandoned him to the vagaries of Drusilla's care instead of seeing to his recovery himself, the way Spike deserved. The way a sire should. The way Angel never had before. Was it any wonder Spike hated him?   
  
Angel cursed himself a thousand times over as he listened to Buffy ramble on about becoming 'who she was going to be', including something with cookies that he really didn't follow. He handed the amulet over with the faint hope that he wasn't signing his boy's death warrant with the act, then offered his usual enigmatic response when Buffy tried to talk about a future together. Anything that would get him out of there and away from her, so he could find a dark place to enumerate his many sins and failings as a sire, a lover, and a man.   
  
He walked back to his car with slow steps, still caught up in thoughts of Spike's soul. What had happened? Had he somehow brought Willow's vengeance down upon him? And if he had, why hadn't Buffy staked him? Why give him a soul instead? And once he had it... Angel shuddered as he remembered those first years, the confusion and pain and constant torment. He'd been so lost, wounded to the very core of his being, and in many ways, he'd never recovered. Thoughts of Spike bearing the weight of a new soul alone made his throat tight. He should have been there, should have been the one to steer his boy through those treacherous first days, the one to hold him when the terrors that haunted him grew too great to bear. Instead, Spike had been left with humans, who could never hope to understand what it was like.   
  
When he looked up, Angel was surprised to find himself in front of the mansion. He hadn't come back here in years, not since he'd acquired his hotel and set about making a new home there. But there was something about the place that drew him in, beckoning to him as surely as it had the first time he'd seen it. The place was so much like the estate in Monte Carlo, where he'd first taken William to his bed, and now that he recognized it, Angel permitted himself a bitter smile. Of course. He should've realized that long ago, should've taken it as a sign that he needed to mend fences and reclaim his boy, but he'd been too proud, too caught up in his grandiose dreams of destruction and Buffy's death to look beyond them to the childe that had been waiting for him.   
  
Gravel crunched underfoot as he walked up the driveway to the front door, frowning when he saw it slightly ajar. Had something decided to move in while he was gone? Whatever it was, he'd put a swift end to it, that was for sure! This was  _his_  home, even if he never set foot in it again, and anyone trespassing was about to find out what it meant to cross Angelus. Maybe a few hours of hearing something scream would distract him from -   
  
 _Spike._  The second he pushed the door open, Spike's scent slammed into him with the force of a freight train. There was no mistaking it; his boy was here. Or had been here. Angel sniffed the air as he closed the door and took his first steps into the hall, following the scent into the living room, where Spike was currently slouched down in his chair, apparently fast asleep.   
  
Of course. He should've known Spike would find his way here. Angel smiled as he studied the sleeping blond, remembering the countless times he'd discovered Spike in whatever chair he happened to favor at the moment. He'd always claimed it was because he liked to irritate him, and he didn't doubt that had been part of it, but there was more to it. There was no explaining otherwise why he used to seek it out after one of the brutal beatings Angelus used to mete out as punishment, or why he was often found there after Angelus had spent the night behind locked doors with one or both women of the household.   
  
Even now, Angel doubted Spike had really thought about it enough to realize that his sire's chair had always been vacant in those hours that he'd needed it most.   
  
For several long minutes he simply stood and watched Spike sleep, well aware that he could have been quite contented doing only that until sunrise. But that was before he heard the blond murmur, "Sire."   
  
That one soft, sleepy word sealed Spike's fate. Angel smiled and began the process of reclaiming what was his, what had always been his even if he'd been too stupid to take it before tonight. "I should've known I'd find you here," he said, trying to sound as much like Angelus in his blacker moods as he could. "You always did like my chair best."   
  
Blue eyes flew open, and it was all Angel could do to keep from kissing him senseless in those first few seconds before Spike blinked at him and said warily, "Pretty sure you left it behind, mate."  _And me along with it._  Angel could hear the words as clearly as if they'd been spoken aloud.   
  
He didn't look away from Spike as he stated, "I'll be taking the chair back now, along with the childe in it."   
  
At his declaration, Spike's eyes widened until they were the size of saucers and Angel bit his cheek to hide a smile as he waited for the explosion that was sure to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike didn't disappoint. He stiffened and scowled up at Angel. "Not yours anymore, you ponce. Or did you somehow manage to forget that between here an' the cemetery?"   
  
"Oh, you're mine, all right," Angel assured him. "In fact, it seems like a lot of things here are mine. My chair." His eyes slid over the chair before glancing at the crystal bottle on the table beside it. "My scotch." Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice to a growling purr as he added, "And my boy. All in my house."   
  
"Not bloody likely. Think the Slayer must've sucked out those last few workin' brain cells," Spike scoffed and started to get out of the chair,   
  
He ended up right back in it when Angel pushed him down. "She kissed me," he informed Spike. "I didn't ask her to and I put an end to it as soon as I could."   
  
Spike snorted. "Right. She shoved her tongue down your throat an' you were just a poor, defenseless victim in the whole scenario."   
  
Put like that, Angel had to admit that he could see why Spike was having trouble believing him. "I kissed her back because she smelled like you," he admitted, the memory stirring up a possessive desire to shake him and demand to know why Buffy smelled like his childe. "She reeked of you and I wanted to see if she tasted like you, too."   
  
Apparently some of his jealousy was leaking through, because Spike shifted nervously in the chair. "Slayer's a free agent," he muttered. "Don't see your mark on her anywhere." Did that mean Spike had looked? Or that he'd wanted to put his own mark on her?   
  
"She'd better not be wearing yours, either." The words came out harder and colder than he intended, but the very thought of someone that wasn't him wearing Spike's mark was enough to make him see red.   
  
"Relax. She wouldn't let me even if I tried."   
  
That was the outside of enough. Angel grabbed Spike's shirt in his hands, hauling the blond half out of the chair, his growl echoing through the room. "You'd better not try to mark her or anybody else, boy!"   
  
"Why not?" Spike shot back. "Not like you care, is it?"   
  
And there it was; the crux of the argument in a few words, pared down as only Spike could make it. Angel looked into his childe's eyes, those blue eyes that had haunted him for a hundred years. He'd read a thousand emotions in them over the years, but now he could see only heartbreak. It was an ache that had been years in the making, and there was no way he could mend it with just a few hours left to them, even if he wanted to try. "I care," he assured Spike, bending to kiss him, a soft press of his lips against his childe's that lasted only a second before Spike twisted away. "I care," Angel repeated.   
  
"Fuck off!" Spike spat, shoving at him. But Angel didn't let go; instead, he dropped down to he knees in front of the chair and leaned in for another kiss that Spike only barely managed to avoid. "Stop it, Angel! Whatever game you're playin', I'm not interested, okay?"   
  
"It's not a game," he insisted, although his heart sank at the realization of exactly how difficult it was going to be to get his boy back. Maybe even impossible...   
  
No. No, he couldn't think that way, couldn't let Spike walk into the fight tomorrow without doing everything possible to make sure he knew he was wanted and cared for. "You're mine, Spike. You always have been," Angel stated evenly, capturing both the blond's wrists in one hand before he reached for the button on his jeans. "And I'm going to prove it to you."   
  
Spike sucked in a sharp breath when Angel unzipped his jeans and reached inside. "Okay, fine. You made your point, now stop it."   
  
Angel dipped his head, lips seeking out the pulse point on his childe's neck, smiling as he felt Spike's body react, hardening within his grasp. "You haven't admitted you're mine yet," he reminded Spike, swiping his thumb over the tip of the blond's cock.   
  
"Already told you, Angelus - not your boy anymore." The words were half-protest, half-moan, and Spike shifted to push his hips up into Angel's fist, his body proving what he refused to admit.   
  
"You'll always be mine." Angel stroked him slowly, watching him struggle futilely to hold back a moan. "My beautiful boy," he whispered.   
  
Spike shook his head, but didn't manage anything more intelligible than "Nnnggghhh." He was getting close, hips shifting faster now, hands pawing restlessly at the arms of the chair and Angel's shoulder.   
  
Angel took him right the edge, watching the familiar signs of his childe's impending climax, clamping down on the base of his dick right before he could come. "My boy," he stated. When Spike didn't say anything, Angel tightened his grip and hissed, "Say it!"   
  
"Fuck, whatever you want, just lemme - Christ, Angel, please!"   
  
"What I want is to hear you admit it," Angel growled, holding him immobile with his grip.   
  
"Angelus -" Spike let out a cry when he shifted in response, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He tried thrusting, clearly desperate for any friction, but when Angel snarled, he caved. "Fine, yours! You happy now, you poncy - ohhhh fuck, yeah!"   
  
Angel smiled as he watched Spike's body arch when he pressed his thumb against the nerves under the tip and rubbed. "That's it," he purred. "Just like that." He bent down to his childe's neck and murmured, "Come for me," just before he sank his fangs in deep.   
  
The only response he received was a wordless shout, but it didn't matter. Not when he could feel Spike shuddering against him while he came in a silken cascade over his fingers and taste every last heady drop of pleasure in his boy's blood. Angel swallowed greedily as he worked Spike down, milking his climax for all it was worth.   
  
When hands pushed weakly as his shoulders, he eased his fangs free and licked the jagged wound closed, suddenly too afraid to raise his head and face the childe he'd just ravished - again.


	5. Chapter 5

Spike didn't move. He knew he should probably push Angel away and demand to know what the fuck he thought he was doing, treating him like he was still a fledge, shoving his hands down his pants and forcing him to climax just to prove he could. He should slam a fist into his lying face, show the bastard that he was his own vampire now and he didn't need the poncy, Slayer-kissing poof in any way. And he was going to do all of that and more, any minute now.   
  
As soon as he could be sure he wasn't going to end up whimpering when he opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to three hundred, then five hundred, and a thousand before he managed to ask, "You wanna quit lickin' me, mate?"   
  
Angel jerked away as though his blood had suddenly been replaced with holy water. But there was no hiding what he'd been doing - his face was covered with Spike's blood, from neck to chin, and Spike wondered what the Slayer would think if she could see her precious champion now. He watched, highly amused, as Angel licked his lips clean, leaving large streaks of blood still smeared over his jaw, streaks that Spike wanted to lean forward and lick off. Once upon a time, he would've done just that.   
  
Once upon a time was very long ago and far away, though.   
  
Spike reminded himself of that fact when gold eyes fastened on him, staring at him as though he really were the most important thing in the whole world to the other vampire. But he'd never been first in his sire's eyes, always had to settle for the crumbs, so to think anything else now was just deluding himself. Angel was here because - well, he was sure he had a reason. Spike just didn't know what it was.   
  
"Back off, gimme a lil room to maneuver here, yeah?" Pushing against the broad shoulders again, he succeeded in getting Angel to move away, and he told himself the sudden cold was just his imagination. "Right. So what was all that really about, then?"   
  
Angel laughed softly, a bitter, empty sound that made Spike tense and start thinking of ways to warn the humans if the soul had gone walkabout again. "I told you; you're -"   
  
"Yeah, know what you told me," Spike snarled, cutting him off before he could lay claim to him again. He used to want that, used to live for the days that his sire took him to his bed and wrote bloody possession all over his body with fists, fangs, and cock, but he wasn't the pathetic wanker he used to be anymore. A hundred years on his own had taught him to be self-sufficient, to ignore that corner of his mind that screamed out constantly for his sire, and he wasn't about to roll over just because Angel felt like playing 'Remember When' for a few hours. "Still doesn't answer my question. What are you after? Know you've got some kinda angle, might as well tell me what it is, skip the mind games an' save us both a few hours."   
  
"Cards on the table, is that it?" Spike nodded and Angel smiled. "You always were so impatient, you know. Just had to know everything right away, whether it was something you were ready for or not."   
  
Spike scowled at him. "I'll be the judge of what I'm ready for an' not you. Now, spit it out or move - got plans for the night an' they don't include listenin' to you jabber 'til dawn."   
  
"So prickly," Angel murmured in a warm tone that Spike had only ever heard in Angelus' most mellow moments. "All right, then. I want you."   
  
No, he didn't. Angel had never wanted him. Angelus had wanted him only when there was nobody better around, but Angel... he'd never wanted any of them. He'd made that clear over and over again. "Pull the other one, 's got bells on it," Spike scoffed.   
  
"What would prove it to you?" The quiet words were almost enough to do that in and of themselves. His sire had never asked what Spike wanted, never offered anything that didn't come with a whole ball of string attached to it, but now he was essentially offering him carte blanche?!? It didn't make sense. And Spike didn't trust things that didn't make sense. At least with Angelus, he'd always known where he stood, but this - this was downright disconcerting.   
  
He studied him for a long moment, looking for cracks in the veneer, some sign that he was about to crack and either fuck him through the nearest flat surface or beat him down, but there was nothing. Just that calm air of expectation, like he really wanted to know what it would take to make Spike believe him. "Blood an' sex," he said finally. "Offer 'em both up an' I'll start to think you're serious."   
  
Angel's lips curved in a small smile and he nodded, rising to his feet. "Done." As Spike's jaw dropped, he started unbuttoning his shirt. "Meet me in the bedroom?"   
  
Spike nodded, or thought he did. He wasn't really sure - his brain had pretty much fried the instant Angel agreed to his proposition. Blood and sex, the two things that bound them, but both had always been Spike's. His sire had never offered up his own body, and certainly never offered his blood. And now, just to prove he wanted Spike, he was willing to give both?!?   
  
A slow grin started to form as Spike bounded to his feet, yanking his own shirt off and heading down the hall after his sire. This might be his last night on earth, but with a chance like this, there was no way it wasn't going to be a bloody fantastic sendoff!


End file.
